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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111187">Aire and Angels</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowsnow/pseuds/snowsnow'>snowsnow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Magic and demons, clear depiction of death, inspired by xiao's storyline in genshin impact</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:55:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowsnow/pseuds/snowsnow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While Youngho's masked saviour may be shunned by the moon and history itself, Youngho welcomes him with open arms.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Lee Taeyong/Nakamoto Yuta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>johndofest - round one</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Aire and Angels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt #36 for johndofest!! I'm so thankful for the amazing mods and prompter and tons of apologies for my tardiness &lt;333</p><p>This is loosely based off of Xiao from genshin impact, and the title is the name of a poem by John Donne (who has written some of my fave love poems, pls check out!) + the poem mentioned in the story is 'The Rime of the Anicent Mariner' by Coleridge.</p><p>I have changed the plot completely so many times so I hope this is the one version I like lmao -- enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Youngho supposed that the cautionary tales his mother told him time and time again, when he was a tiny little thing with a big penchant for trouble and an even bigger fear of the darkness, would have to manifest themselves some way in his subconscious. His mother would look down at his windswept hair and snotty nose, muttering about the ‘darkness that eats away at small princes who refuse to do the right thing’, and Youngho would straighten his back and settle into a polite smile almost suddenly – for the wrath of both his mother and the darkness would petrify 8-year-old Youngho into a fate worse than death.</p><p>The darkness faded when his mother died. Yet, Youngho would argue that perhaps it is back once more; in the form of a reflection.</p><p> </p><p>The tight layers of the prince’s formal wear weighed Youngho down, leaving him to stagger into his bedroom. His day was hardly over, the moon only beginning its ascent through the thick blankets of clouds – the slowed blinking of his eyes begged to differ. Youngho almost laughed at his hunched figure in the wide mirror, his arms clutching the bedpost with whitened knuckles. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so tired, so resolute in his goal of slumber, when the past months did not offer the respite of rest. The stack of tomes on his bedside table were a dead giveaway.</p><p>The viridian jacket he donned wrapped around his neck like a noose, courtesy of his father’s commanding nature going as far as to dictate the prince’s clothing choices. The buttons unlatched easily at least, along with the waistcoat. Youngho watched his own chest rattle with the breaths he now took. The gilded mirror was perhaps the greatest gift for a prince; a prince who thought of his own condition and outward appearance far more than the politics his father begged him to heed.</p><p>“Am I Porphyria?” Youngho held his hand to his collarbones, cracking a smile at his reflection. The reflection smiled back – Youngho expected as much. His reflection’s hand raising to form a cutting motion against his neck was not, however. His pupils shook as he drank in the sight of his company, himself, acting in such an aggressive manner. Youngho could not do magic, he could not even fathom the existence of most simple spells on an average day.<br/>
“By the Gods, I must be drained completely of sanity.” The reflection’s smile only seemed far more predatory in response. The momentary feeling of lead in Youngho’s eyes had been diminished by the sight of that being -- the being that dared to play the part of the prince, albeit only in reflection – but he inevitably blinked, and the arms were back to his collarbone, mouth arrested by a frown, accompanied by drowsy eyes. Youngho was back.</p><p>Falling into his bed, heavy coverings carelessly pushed to the side, Youngho did not remember that this was not the first nor the second time this happened. Sleep was far sweeter when the moon kept watch and the darkness clawing at the mirror’s sides did not feel brave enough to confront the glow.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand why you won’t ask for an extension, especially if you’re sorting through so much.” Youngho frowned at Yuta, who only gazed back at him with his pleading eyes. Taeyong would dub them puppy eyes but Youngho regarded them the same way he regarded sirens: bait to do as the person wishes. In this case, Youngho knew how badly Yuta wanted him to let this go, but Youngho would not be a charming prince if he had no concern for those around him working themselves into an early grave.<br/>
“I can do it! I’ll even finish it tonight and report my findings to your father first thing tomorrow morning,” Yuta shook his finger in Youngho’s face, “I’ll even be at the throne at dawn. Early bird flies and all that.”<br/>
“The early bird catches the worm.” Youngho chastised, stealing a thin apple slice from Yuta’s plate. Yuta only shrugged before leering into his fruit bowl. Gazing at his own plate piled up with dried meats and even half a smoked bass, Youngho wished he would have picked up his own fruit bowl instead.<br/>
“isn’t spending your nights on a battlefield extremely dangerous anyway? Sub-zero temperatures, no lighting, chance of the dead returning…” Youngho listed, cheekbones reddening at the laughter Yuta expelled,<br/>
“My current task is to find remnants in the rubble, isn’t it too late to think about the supernatural?”</p><p>Taeyong chose this moment to turn up, without a plate of food to gingerly place down; he would simply steal from Youngho and Yuta’s plates until fulfilled and chirping like the cat who got the cream.<br/>
“We’re talking about seer matters again? Isn’t it a bit too early?” Taeyong cleanly picked the banana slice nestled in Yuta’s fork.<br/>
“I just want my closest companions to stay safe.” Youngho grumbled, only placated by Taeyong resting his hand on his wrist in a petting motion.<br/>
“Yes, Prince Youngho, our eternal third wheel to our relationship.” Yuta teased, nose scrunched in a way that reminded Youngho of a corn snake, tiny yet possessing a mean hiss. The couple laughed at the disgruntled expression marring Youngho’s face, until a thoughtful look passed over Taeyong’s own features,<br/>
“Youngho,” He paused, eyes scanning the prince’s being, “You look tired.”</p><p>The seer seemed reluctant to say this, Youngho mused that it was unbecoming of subordinates, no matter how precious to the prince, to state their thoughts on the royal’s appearance.<br/>
“I am as fresh as the new daffodil batch blossoming in the east gardens; please don’t fret.” Youngho left it at that, ignoring the second sweep of Taeyong’s eyes in favour of picking out another fruit from Yuta’s rapidly diminishing pile.</p><p>A much younger Youngho had once feared the two seers, who had swooped down to his 5-year old’s height and cooed at the pure fear in Youngho’s face. After all, it was incredibly uncommon to come across a couple who donned fiery reds and glossy pinks from the tip of their toes to the last strands of their hair. The peculiarity in their attire and look only horrified the toddler Youngho, but now he would not feel at home in his own castle if he did not glimpse Taeyong’s bubble-gum personage, nor Yuta’s crimson locks tied haphazardly with thin stripped twigs. Taeyong would sometimes joke that Yuta had been born into the wrong profession and should have been a wood nymph gliding playfully through the bright forests. On the other hand, the couple had always readily agreed that Youngho belonged as human, ignorant of the frustration he harboured at being considerably ‘ordinary’. It was a cycle: teenage Youngho would visit a foreign land and become entranced with a new magic or wielder, he’d coop himself up in the vast library in an attempt to withhold the feeling of having his breath taken by the extraordinary – the end of the cycle would only be in sight when somebody reminded Youngho of the plight faced by inhuman beings.</p><p>The magic world is characterised by a never-ending witch hunt, sponsored by none other than humans – Youngho often can’t suppress the feeling of guilt quivering in his heart at the thought of his guardian seers losing their lives to the plain dull humans overridden by their jealousy. Youngho’s father shared this sentiment but would not hesitate to make off-handed comments about the prince’s attachment to the seers. Youngho practices his empty minded expression in those times.</p><p>“We’ve kept you enough company this morning,” Yuta jokes, pointing a painted fingernail in Youngho’s direction, “we all have duties today, including you, your majesty.”<br/>
Taeyong scoffed, hand reaching up to cover the quirk of his mouth. Youngho admired the seers’ compatibility in moments like this, they seemed almost in sync, especially when ganging up on Youngho himself.<br/>
“Youngho’s just going to curl up like a cat in the library until someone fetches him for dinner,” Taeyong exaggerated a sigh, “We must swap lives one day, Prince. I want to sunbathe by the large French windows.”<br/>
“As enticing as that sounds, you couldn’t pay me to be romantically involved with Yuta.” Yuta’s arms raised in mock offense,<br/>
“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m a catch!” Youngho ducked away from Yuta’s playful head pat.<br/>
“You’re my catch, Yuta.” Taeyong’s dreamy smile was indication for Youngho to make a hasty exit. The last thing the prince saw before he spun the corner away from the drawing-room-turned-dining-area was the redhead’s lean towards Taeyong’s face. Seeing the two kissing would have been like witnessing parents – Youngho felt glad he managed to escape that fate for now. The library awaited his return for the day.</p><p> </p><p>‘Twice or thrice had I lov’d thee,<br/>
Before I knew thy face or name;<br/>
So in a voice, so in a shapelesse flame,<br/>
Angells affect us oft, and worship’d bee;’<br/>
-	John Donne, Aire and Angels</p><p> </p><p>The prince didn’t often make a habit of overstaying his welcome in the main library, lounging on the leather seats until his exposed forearms stuck uncomfortably to the material, but a book would often whisk him away from the room. He would sit unaware of the dimming lights and the creeping moon, who would timidly wave hello to Youngho when he finally looked up. In those moments, Youngho would be arrested by the glow. His mother had told him a bedtime story where the moon and the sun would miss each other’s presence, sometimes just by a hair’s breadth; unlike his younger version giggling at the possible comedic interpretation, current Youngho can only stifle the longing pulling at heart strings, and watch the moon continue its ascent.</p><p>The grandfather clock’s chimes grated on Youngho’s sensitive ears – his pining for the previous silence increased tenfold. Packing the novel, he had clutched at for hours, Youngho wondered if Cinderella felt like this, keeping steps light as she abandoned the ball at midnight the same way he is abandoning the haven of the library at the same midnight.<br/>
“I suppose I would not fit any glass slipper.” Youngho mused to himself, voice rough with the lack of use.</p><p>Youngho avoided the shadows stretching across the marble floor of the corridors, until he slipped through his own chamber’s doors.</p><p>Despite feeling wide awake, Youngho could not help but sprawl across the expanse of his bed – the restlessness he felt needed a cure; another book perhaps? The scratched spine of the thick tome at the top of the bedside table felt comforting against his palm as he absentmindedly flipped pages until he reached his place. Youngho resisted a chuckle at his own behaviour; it really is bookish of him to retire from a day of reading and ‘research’ to more bedtime reading – his mother would have berated him to get out of his head. Youngho looked up at his own reflection in the large mirror, smiling at himself and ruffling his own brown curls – perhaps, tonight would be one of the good nights.</p><p> </p><p>“My mind is playing tricks on me.” The hand in the mirror – Youngho’s own hand but reflected – waves off the words in response. The book Youngho had gingerly held tumbled off the bed as the prince backs away. The hand gesture felt familiar but Youngho can’t put his finger on it – he scoured his own mind as he watched the reflection smile and stand from the bed, nearing the mirror itself from the other side.<br/>
“Stay back,” Youngho began, when he remembered. The motion against his neck – how many nights ago was that? Youngho’s perception of time must have been ripped to shreds with gardening shears for him to write off an event like that.<br/>
“I thought you were smart,” The reflection spoke then, sounding nothing like Youngho himself, “You didn’t tell your little seer friends a thing.” The voice echoed, high pitched and nauseating. The nausea crept up steadily; Youngho didn’t have an inkling on his reflection’s nature, and he had possibly practically signed his own death certificate by not heeding any warning signs.</p><p>It all came back to Youngho in pieces – a wink from his counterpart here and there, a venomous stare when Youngho passes the illuminated reflective main hall, and even a hand pressing against the window reflection once, leaving a searing handprint behind. The man – Youngho himself but different? – laughed at the crestfallen look Youngho couldn’t hold back.<br/>
“I can’t fulfil my duty if I let you remember everything and scare you off. Now come here.” The hand beckoned Youngho, who felt his leg muscles twitch to complete the order. It’s terrifying to be at the mercy of your own reflection. Youngho stood up and walked closer.</p><p>His bedroom window’s filtering moonlight shone like a beacon, begging him to attempt an escape. Youngho’s mind quietened it; a part of him seemed to embrace the inevitability of the unknown reaching out to possibly harm him. Youngho didn’t even question what the being wanted, a miscalculation on his part but also a terrible fear of the unknown, adding to a new fear unlocked in the depths of his subconscious.</p><p>“Knock three times now.” The being commanded, and as the clock’s hand subtly stuck the 2 am mark, Youngho’s hand shakily tapped the mirror. In hindsight, Youngho supposed he wouldn’t have been surprised by the being’s actions, yet the strong grip on his neck and momentum from his own reflection leaving its domain shocked him to the core, leaving him bathing in white seas of fear and helplessness.<br/>
“You’re making this so easy now,” The being backed Youngho up to the bed, slamming his side into one of the four posters, “I’ll just quietly shut you up and take your place.” Youngho didn’t register the small groans he emitted; the man was skilfully cutting off his air supply.<br/>
“Perhaps I’ll murder your father next, take over that puny little throne – wreak havoc on the nation you know nothing about. Your sheltered life will be over, you can drown yourself in books and thoughts in the afterlife.” The being’s hands tightened impossibly, knee now coming to down to press onto Youngho’s calf.<br/>
“Before you die, you want to know who I am?” The being grinned at the minute increase of focus in Youngho’s eyes – ever the scholar he was, and now it was going to be his downfall.<br/>
“I am the darkness your mother warned you about.”</p><p>Youngho’s legs kicked out in an attempt to release the hold his own counterpart, the Youngho who perfectly blends in, who can imitate Youngho perfectly, who will ruin his life and nation perfectly. Dark spots floated into his eyesight, dancing in small circles that taunted Youngho’s weakness. The being became so cocky in his ability to subdue the prince, that he let one hand stray to his shoulder, pressing with inhuman strength into the bone until Youngho used the last of his strength to cry out.</p><p>Youngho had mocked Desdemona in his literature classes as a child, going as far as to criticise her lack of strength in a crucial life or death moment. Lying on his bed on the brink of life brought a certain clarity to his own weakness – he simply did not think effort to save himself was worth it.</p><p>The masked stranger climbing through his window must have thought otherwise.</p><p>The black spots continued to twirl, pirouetting in and out of his field of vision, even after the being was forcibly launched away from his body. Youngho’s neck throbbed in a searing pattern of pain and heat, and he almost fancied that this stranger-turned-saviour was conjured from the depths of his mind to stave off the feeling of death creeping up on him.</p><p>“Are you alright?” A new voice brought him back, completely different to the staticky, sticky sweet voice the being had put on in this encounter. This voice was smooth, yet slightly flat, as if disappointed in Youngho, either for his inability to die or his inability to fight back.<br/>
The stranger hesitantly patted Youngho’s side to the point of forcing his eyes open once more. The mask staring Youngho down unnerved him; its black felt main body blended with the peak of hair the Stranger had showing, the rest of it seemingly tied back, and the gold outlining sat prettily. The stranger’s grey eyes watched Youngho struggle to sit up grimly.<br/>
“Who are you?” Youngho felt like an eternity had passed, but the need for clarification was always his first instinct.<br/>
“Your father’s…” The stranger paused, searching for words, “Protector.” The lack of name didn’t pass by Youngho, along with the awareness that this man knows he is the prince who almost willingly went onto his death bed – Youngho’s head bashed against the invisible rock that is his actions.</p><p>Youngho only hummed, spinning his head slowly to see past his saviour, to the body in a heap on the ground.<br/>
“Oh gods, is he…” The body was hidden from view, but the implications frightened Youngho, nonetheless. Perhaps, the being was right in his assessment of how sheltered the prince was.<br/>
The grey eyes of his saviour only harden, and he moved away to let Youngho stare at himself on the ground, stabbed through the heart with a thin sword. The face was slumped downwards but Youngho knew what he, himself, looked like. The bleeding smeared heavily onto the walls and pooling around the body is enough to scare Youngho into entertaining the idea of immortality. Youngho cannot fathom it; he knew he was alive, the erratic beating of his strained heart acted as proof, yet seeing his identical counterpart slumped like a ragdoll – the real Porphyria – felt like a paradox.<br/>
The stranger winced, and moved back in front of Youngho, obscuring his vision once more but the image was etched already, painstakingly marked in his memory with a chisel hammering away at it.<br/>
“What did you think you were doing?” The man asked, and it occurred to Youngho that he sounded strangely detached, “Letting yourself fall prey to a powerful darkness as such. Are you an irresponsible prince?” The words stung at Youngho’s already tender neck, to the point that tears gathered.</p><p>Youngho wondered if laughing in the face of his saviour would be an impolite action; he felt a misplaced guilt, that there is a dead being, perhaps worthy of research and analysis by the seers and magical investigation team his father employed in the main town, that wanted to live, and Youngho didn’t have the strength to try and live. The prince wasn’t so sure if he was thankful to his saviour.<br/>
“Did you want to die? Is that it?” The stranger snapped, and it made Youngho whip around to stare incredulously at him.<br/>
“I did not want to die, but did you not see me? I was weak!” Youngho’s hoarse voice seems to placate the stranger for a moment. The two stared silently at each other, Youngho begging the man to understand that, while Youngho does not have a death wish, there is something to be said about the fragility Youngho felt at his first encounter with near-death – the prince may have become aware of his own mortality, which his privilege had hidden away from him cruelly, even with his mother’s death.<br/>
“Tell me your name.”<br/>
“No,” The man shook his head, “I’ll take the body.” He hoisted the being onto his shoulders, after the blade is cleanly pulled out and dissipated in the air,<br/>
“Don’t look at your reflection for a while, or you might really reconsider your desire not to die.” The stranger didn’t look back when he took off into the night, back through the burst windows.</p><p>Youngho noted that the moonlight refused to shine on the back of his retreating saviour.</p><p> </p><p>The next night Youngho is met by the sight of an empty wall where the gilded mirror once stood. The masked stranger’s hunched form leaned on the windowsill, staring at the same spot with vigour.<br/>
“The Fauna of Mirrors.” The man muttered, ignorant of Youngho’s confused hand gestures. Youngho had left his bed in a surprisingly chipper mood, capturing the attention of the seers when he chose some horse riding and sword practice sessions over the typical book devouring the prince had undertaken the past few months. They swept themselves up in a bout of cooing and praise for the prince, so they missed the shaking of Youngho’s usually steady hands and the flinches that sent tremors up his whole body before pulsing at the column of his throat – a reminder.<br/>
“Why are you in my room once more?” The prince didn’t need a reminder of his own incompetence so soon after; the wounds were still fresh.<br/>
“There are folklore recounting stories of low-ranking demons dwelling in mirrors, devouring their human counterparts then mimicking their existence,” The man’s head hung low, “I didn’t believe it.”<br/>
“I was not even made aware of their existence.” Youngho sighed, hand coming to rest on his covered neck – he was thankful for the high collared designs suddenly.<br/>
“My name is Dongyoung,” The man spoke up once more, and it occurred to Youngho that perhaps his saviour is out of his element, with the way his eyes shifted nervously, and his hands clutched at the wood outlines of the window, as if ready to throw himself over in a hasty escape.<br/>
“I have never made your acquaintance because that is not proper for someone… of my calibre and yours.”<br/>
“Only the king knows of you?” The man, Dongyoung, frowned.<br/>
“I am bound in a contract to serve your father – a shadow-like soldier I suppose.” The frown quickly quirked down even further into a grimace; Youngho wondered what secrets his father kept but quickly decided he would rather not know if it meant that his saviour’s discomfort was breached as a result.<br/>
“You don’t have to share this with me,” Youngho’s surprised by the strength in his own tone and he was rewarded for it by Dongyoung’s lips flitting up in a ghost of a smile. Seeing only a hint of his eyes and mouth frustrated Youngho.<br/>
“How do I properly thank you?” Youngho continued, spurred on by Dongyoung’s small hint of relaxation in his presence. Dongyoung only shakes his head, however, bursting Youngho’s half formed thought bubble about possible friendship.<br/>
“You are not indebted to me in any way.” Dongyoung’s mask slips off his features, folding into tiny shards of gold that float off into the late evening. The mask concealed the slope of his nose, and Youngho considered pushing his bedroom guest out of the window because he was horribly attractive. The picture of Dongyoung is complete, complimented by the tightly wrapped black silk outfit and the thin belt slithered up one of his thighs. There was no hint of weaponry nor destruction in his appearance, save for the power radiating from Dongyoung in waves. Youngho wondered if his saviour was a distant god recently released from his chains.<br/>
“Return tomorrow then.” Youngho stated, eyebrow raised in challenge. He must show his thankfulness in some form, but that could only occur with the presence of the man. Dongyoung seemed to harbour a dislike for speaking unless necessary, his slow nod proving that to the prince. Youngho repeated his words when Dongyoung took this as his cue to hastily exit, leaving Youngho and the moon once more.</p><p> </p><p>As a child, Youngho had never held back from his curiosity, despite his mother’s insistence that “curiosity killed the cat”. Years later, Taeyong had taught him the real conclusion: “satisfaction bought it back”. The prince supposed that if he were not satisfied with the result in his questioning, he must stay dead.</p><p>“Who is Dongyoung?” Youngho wondered aloud, mouth muffled by the breakfast spread he’d leisurely set himself upon. His companions, Taeyong sitting opposite him, and Yuta tucked into Taeyong’s side, could only gape at him in response.<br/>
“Where did you hear that?” Taeyong’s eyes spoke waves of incredulousness.<br/>
“He must’ve read it in a book, it’s uncommon but not impossible.” Yuta patted his partner’s shoulder. It set off a bout of nervousness in Youngho; this was an unexpected reaction.<br/>
“I met him.” It was the understatement of the century, yet Youngho didn’t need to trouble his closest friends and guardians.<br/>
“Yes, of course, you met a Yaksha demon, just randomly.” Yuta snorted.<br/>
“Tell me about him.” Youngho pasted a playful smile; the only way he’d learn anything is if he pretended it was all information to fulfil his curiosity after reading.<br/>
“With direct connections to the Gods, Yaksha demons are built for war. Dongyoung is somewhat known for his ruthless nature.” Taeyong hummed, “His clan has perished, either gone mad with grief and the curse of their enemies or slain in battle – I can’t imagine what being the last one standing must feel like.”<br/>
“Youngho, you shouldn’t read too much into that – there’s nothing good bound to come out of looking into a yaksha demon,” Yuta’s puppy eyes returned in full force, “I know you’re probably curious, but the library has banned all recounts of his clan. They’re not particularly formidable characters worth knowing about.”<br/>
“Are you saying that they’re better off being unwritten in history?” It left a bad taste in Youngho’s mouth.<br/>
“I’m saying,” Yuta stressed the syllables, “Dongyoung is probably hiding somewhere, awaiting his own death, which is completely irrelevant to your princely duties or your reading interests.”<br/>
“The only reason we know of him is because of our mentor – had a chance encounter with Dongyoung once and the touch of their hands taught our mentor all he needed to know. He chased the yaksha out of our village.” Taeyong’s mouth scrunched up vaguely. Youngho couldn’t gouge whether the seers pitied or shunned Dongyoung’s existence.</p><p>The rarity in Dongyoung’s appearance begged the question of how Youngho’s own father had met and even managed to contract his saviour for god-knows how long. It boggled Youngho’s mind until his feet dragged him to the crown hall, where his father resided day in, day out, in his micromanagement of their domain. The only thing preventing Youngho’s burst inside and demand for answers is Dongyoung himself; Dongyoung, who admits that he’s not supposed to be around the prince, who is probably mistreated in some way under his father’s thumb. Youngho never loved his father, and had always been enlightened on the distant, almost cruel disposition of his parents. His mother at least attempted to form a bond.</p><p>Youngho chose not to confront his father, instead convincing himself to earn Dongyoung’s friendship through his taste buds. The typically somewhat eccentric tastes of the prince leave the head chef unaware that the list of cuisine prepared will not only be eaten by Youngho in the early hours of the morning.</p><p> </p><p>The first thing Youngho said at the sight of Dongyoung was, “Oh, you didn’t wear your mask.”. Berating himself for the outspoken blunder, Youngho rectified the situation by grabbing the yaksha’s elbow, other hand clutching the woven basket tightly, and practically herding him down to the east gardens, as close to the lake as possible without feeling damp moss under him as he sprawled on the grass. Dongyoung stood by him, staring and unflinching at Youngho’s forced casualness.<br/>
“Are we having a picnic?” Youngho didn’t know whether to appreciate or feel exasperation at Dongyoung being so straight to the point.<br/>
“Yes! Food is the easiest way to thank somebody,” Youngho grinned, patting the grass next to him, “Taeyong always makes something for me whenever I help his research.”<br/>
“Taeyong?”<br/>
“Oh, he’s a seer employed here, alongside Yuta, his partner.” Youngho began to unpack the basket.<br/>
“If he is a seer, he must know about me; unless you’ve not told?” Dongyoung’s eyes started shifting again, unable to gaze at any one puzzle piece of the scenery they’re surrounded by.<br/>
“I know who you are, Dongyoung.” Youngho jumped right into the deep end, “It’s not of importance currently. Please look at the assortment of foods packed.”</p><p>Youngho watched Dongyoung pick at foods for a while, unaware of the moon starting to leer at them or the lake waving impatiently at them.<br/>
“How do you feel?” The abruptness of the question stirs Youngho out of the reverie he’s started cultivating. It was as if Dongyoung had doused him in lake water and expected him not to shiver at the frosty feeling biting at his scalp.<br/>
“About what?” Youngho was taught to compose himself in speedy moments – part of princely training that invaded his childhood and teen years.<br/>
“Being marked by a demon with murderous intentions,” Dongyoung deadpans, “Even just their words can curse and choke up a human – make them feel tainted by the Gods’ foes.”<br/>
Youngho had no words to say; Dongyoung was right in that the crawling feeling under his skin had not quietened nor had it stopped its slither up to his mind, where it would take root and drive Youngho to the brink of existence. Was this a curse? Youngho can only nod at his saviour.</p><p>An uncharacteristically soft look passed his saviour’s features. The prince recalled the seers’ words; does Dongyoung go through the same thought numbing sensation every day? Youngho had suffered only a few days and was starting a return to his night owl tendencies to stave off this blasphemy – if Dongyoung experienced this prolonged suffering even now, in his inhuman form, it would be heart-breaking to Youngho, who saw this yaksha demon as a saviour, rather than someone worthy of this pain.<br/>
“Jump in the lake,” Dongyoung grabbed his shoulder, guiding him to the edge of the water, “It’s not very deep.”<br/>
“Why would I?” Youngho didn’t want to deal with the cooled lake freezing his limbs centimetre by centimetre. Dongyoung didn’t grace him with a response, instead unceremoniously shoving him forward. The shock of the water was enough to still any of the prince’s flailing.<br/>
“Why are we doing this?” Dongyoung slipped in the water too, standing opposite Youngho’s shivering form. Their height difference felt noticeable now, where Dongyoung’s chin touched the water with every bob of his throat, Youngho’s chest felt the miniate waves lap at him.<br/>
“You ask too many questions,” Dongyoung held the prince’s shoulders, “Purification.”<br/>
Tiny twinkling lights started permeating from Dongyoung’s body, whose eyes clenched shut tightly; they bridged together towards Youngho in a kaleidoscope of colours. The prince was gazing at his own personal northern lights show glittering from Dongyoung’s own being. The twisting light ribboned around Dongyoung’s hands and Youngho’s shoulders, warm, steady, and completely healing. The foggy crawling under his skin ceased at once.</p><p>Dongyoung’s eyes opened slowly; Youngho had once again lost track of time, focusing on the soft light gliding through him and the yaksha demon’s hands starting to creep up to his neck. Instead of the aggressive, nail digging squeeze his mirror counterpart had initiated, Dongyoung undid the top button on his overly complicated clothing and traced the prints left behind gently, stroking against the column of his throat. Youngho feared Dongyoung could feel the heartbeat lodged in his trachea.<br/>
“Better?” His saviour whispered, the storm in his grey eyes completely at bay, completely crystalised.<br/>
“Thank you.” Youngho’s own arms came up to stroke Dongyoung’s wrists, comforting each other in this moment. The content smile on Dongyoung’s face was worth the measly cold Youngho suffered the next three days.</p><p> </p><p>Following their midnight picnic, there was an apparent shift in both Youngho and the yaksha demon who takes it upon himself to visit the prince almost every night. Dongyoung never ceased to ask whether Youngho felt purified, and safe. Youngho’s heart warmed at the thought of the other’s concern, simultaneously hoping that Dongyoung would allow the prince to be concerned for him too.<br/>
Almost a month later, Youngho realised he was falling in love. The burst of warmth, like the light binding that glided through the two of them that night, left Youngho reeling. He has never experienced this before, and the gentle expressions never leaving Dongyoung’s face in Youngho’s presence made the gold glittered ribbon branded with Dongyoung’s name tighten around the prince’s heart. The two spent their nights discussing Youngho’s research and reading; Youngho listened carefully when Dongyoung would open up and mention lore he knew – Youngho fancied that Dongyoung shared at least a tiny droplet of the same curiosity Youngho drowns in on the daily.</p><p>“The many men, so beautiful!<br/>
And they all dead did lie:<br/>
And a thousand thousand slimy things<br/>
Lived on; and so did I.”<br/>
Youngho paused in his reading, gazing at the forlorn expression marring his nightly companion’s face.<br/>
“Does the Mariner bother you too much?” Youngho’s tone was kind, welcoming Dongyoung to share.<br/>
“It just feels somewhat personal.” Despite feeling comfortable, Youngho supposed that Dongyoung would forever be a man of few words.<br/>
“Listen here:<br/>
O happy living things! No tongue<br/>
Their beauty might declare:<br/>
A spring of love gushed from my heart,”<br/>
Dongyoung only blinked at Youngho, who laughed,<br/>
“The slimy creatures are gone – it’s atonement,” Youngho paused, “You could have that too. Those curses… it must haunt you.”<br/>
Youngho sat up from the curled position on his bed,<br/>
“We could find you help, free you from this – I don’t want to see you suffer.” Dongyoung stiffened.<br/>
“Leave it alone.” His voice was quiet but pained.<br/>
“Tell me your story first.” Youngho had so many inklings as to what lead to Dongyoung’s current disposition. No amount of research in his father’s private library or subtle questions towards the seer couple would give him respite from his curiosity. It felt almost lucky that a poem about nature would lead to this conversation.<br/>
Dongyoung sighed, before turning to the side, letting Youngho see enough of his face without the yaksha demon having to see Youngho too – a self-preservation tactic in the face of vulnerability. Youngho noticed that his saviour looked so sharp and steely, almost like a weapon ready to be drawn.<br/>
“My purpose as a yaksha demon under the Gods’ jurisdiction is to protect humans; my contract with your father is simply a guarantee of that. I don’t know how long I’ve been alive; it all starts to blend after a while. It’s a cycle of hunting demons and corrupt Gods, but I have to withstand their voices after death too.” Dongyoung’s hands trembled, Youngho wished he could hold them in his own, but the faraway look in his eyes kept the prince at bay.<br/>
“You felt the curse and voice of one demon, and it’s not a fate I would wish on anyone.” Dongyoung’s pupils flashed to where the mirror once stood. Youngho thought about the endless nightmares, the flash of fear and helplessness left behind in him, even without the curse of his attacker present; Dongyoung must feel that but tenfold.<br/>
“As a soldier, this is my punishment. You cannot change that,” Dongyoung’s head bowed, Youngho wondered if he could cry, “I don’t want you to change that.”<br/>
The tears in Youngho’s eyes must have been potent, for Dongyoung raised his head in alarm at the sound of a sniffle. The yaksha’s eyes broke away from their resolve to keep Youngho away.</p><p>No matter how reckless this action was, Youngho would do it again, always, in every universe, in every scenario. He wound his fingers into Dongyoung’s hair, pulling Dongyoung to his lap to bury his face into the yaksha’s neck. The prince cried and sobbed pathetically for the unjust fate Dongyoung was born into, for the cruel treatment from his enemies that did not realise just how forced Dongyoung’s hand is in his actions, for Dongyoung’s belief that he deserved all of this. Dongyoung’s hands hesitantly came to wrap around Youngho’s waist, until his own grip was tight. Youngho could guess that his saviour had never been comforted in this way.</p><p>From then on, it was natural progression. Youngho unburied himself from the expanse of Dongyoung’s shoulder and neck, while still lovingly carding through his dark locks, and Dongyoung looked back into the prince’s eyes in complete wonder. Gray eyes fluttered closed when Youngho dared to place a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth, lips parting for a proper seal. Youngho obliged.<br/>
It was almost like a paradox; the fluttering feeling of having your love in your arms, stealing their breath with each kiss, while suffering from the sinking feeling that your love is suffering and will suffer in the future.</p><p>Dongyoung desperately pushed back to kiss Youngho fully, hands leaving the prince’s sides to pet lovingly at his neck and jaw. Youngho responded in kind; melding himself to Dongyoung, ridding them of any space between the two. Youngho couldn’t help the bittersweet sentiment rise within him.</p><p> </p><p>When Youngho turned 12, his mother gifted him a set of poetry; “it’s for you to read to the love of your life when the time comes,” she said, smiling down at him a softer smile than the ones he was used to. Pre-teen Youngho had thanked her then buried the book, the same way any uninterested, unromantic child would. Youngho opened the poetry set when he was 19.</p><p> </p><p>“Your father’s ball is in a few days. Your attendance will of course be obligatory,” Yuta smirked, watching Youngho’s reaction like a hawk, “Taeyong nor I, of course, must be there.”<br/>
“You say this every year.” This topic would always bore Youngho into an early sleep, even at 8 am on a Tuesday.<br/>
“Yes, well, this time we really cannot be here even if we wanted to,” Taeyong chimed in, “Last minute expedition.”<br/>
“Sorry child, you shall have to suffer through preparations and the night itself on your own.” Yuta dramatically flailed his hands in mock sympathy. Youngho couldn’t help but laugh.<br/>
“I’ll be fine, it’s my duty.” Youngho was already thinking of ways to drag Dongyoung with him so he wouldn’t suffer the fate of socialisation on his own.<br/>
“I’m glad you’re taking it so well,” Taeyong smiled his bright honest smile, “You’re nearing 20 soon too, it may be good for you to possible meet any possible partners.”<br/>
Youngho only shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>The only feature Youngho liked of the yearly ball was the crystal chandelier that would wink at Youngho as he’d be forced to make chatty rounds with guests. A new feature Youngho liked was the sight of Dongyoung in royal blue formal wear, matching Youngho’s own clothing. His father had not said a word at Youngho’s insistence of having a guest to bring and tailored clothing to match, and he had only raised an eyebrow at Youngho’s blunt confession that it is a man he was bringing. Youngho could only hope that his father would stay as equally emotionless at the discovery that it is the reluctant Dongyoung taking this honoured position of guest to the prince.</p><p>Youngho swatted Dongyoung’s fidgeting hands away from his lapel,<br/>
“Don’t worry, they don’t know who you are, and you’ll be by my side the whole night.”<br/>
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Dongyoung sighed, “What if I embarrass you? I don’t understand aristocracy.”<br/>
“And you think I do?”<br/>
“You’re a prince, don’t act any different.” Dongyoung flicked the prince’s forehead, drawing a pout.</p><p>The mingling guests eyed the couple as they walked side by side, hands brushing but unable to hold onto each other. Youngho wanted to get the possible confrontation with his father out of the way first. The King sat imposingly at the head of the ballroom, lounging on his throne with a content look – he must make his own rounds soon, but Youngho knows the man would never let go of an opportunity to look superior.</p><p>Standing by his father’s throne with Dongyoung as a silent support pillar felt foreign to Youngho, who has never had a buffer between him and his father – even his mother would sit resolutely next to him and dare badmouth Youngho at any moment.<br/>
“I expect you to talk to every guest tonight, not only…” His father’s eyes slid over Dongyoung, both in recognition and warning, “your guest of honour.”<br/>
“Yes father.” Youngho knew to accept simply.<br/>
“I did not expect your guest, but it is not an issue. Enjoy your games, Youngho.” His father dismissed him, guards coming to usher the prince down to the main floor. The surprise in Youngho was mirrored in Dongyoung, who dared not say a word.</p><p>The guests parted like the red sea at the sight of the prince, eager to hound him into conversations like vultures but simultaneously respectful of tradition. The prince must dance once before beginning his duty.<br/>
As he stepped onto the marble tiles, Youngho thought of the practice he’d gruellingly put Dongyoung through, but he was confident the yaksha would not disappoint, which of course, he does not.</p><p>Dongyoung sparkled as he clutched Youngho’s hand and back, starting to sway to the music provided. The prince’s heart clenched at the sight; his saviour was willing to suffer through this human affair for Youngho. The loose fabric decorating Dongyoung’s sides fluttered when he’s spun in a circle, reminiscent of a feathered bird taking flight. Youngho can only hope that he looked as magnificent holding and guiding Dongyoung in their dance, as Dongyoung did in his metaphorical flight around the area’s perimeters. The hand in Youngho’s hold tightened when the guests started their polite cheer, and while Youngho’s father stayed emotionless at his place, Youngho saw no traces of discontent. Youngho supposed this was the best outcome possible tonight, as he entangles his fingers with Dongyoung and enters the crowding entrapment of aristocrats.</p><p>Youngho spent the following days avoiding his (normally favourite) seers to quell their badgering about the mystery partner by Youngho’s side. The guests had been far too star struck to question the raven man by Youngho’s side, his quiet and steady presence easily ignored by the likes of them, while it was all Youngho could think about the whole night.</p><p>Taeyong had taken up residence in the library, ready to pounce on an unassuming Youngho, while Yuta had monopolised the horse riding and weaponry staff to congregate around Yuta himself, leaving Youngho with a dwindling pile of unread books in his bedroom, and no alternate activity. He turned to visiting the gardens in the afternoon, to convince the seers that this is his new activity, to abandon their posts. Youngho didn’t expect to find Dongyoung soaking his legs, combat trousers rolled up, in the same lake they’d had a picnic in.<br/>
“I don’t often see you in daytime.” Youngho remarked, taking a seat next to the yaksha.<br/>
“I was gaining courage to speak to you tonight,” Dongyoung’s blinks were slow and measured, thoughtful, “What better to place to do that than here? I think it is very special to us.”<br/>
“Is that what you wanted to discuss? Us?” Youngho feared that Dongyoung would feel the spike of warmth clawing at his insides at the thought of them as a unit.<br/>
Dongyoung took a deep breath,<br/>
“I am in love with you and that is the worst outcome of us seeing each other.”</p><p>Youngho felt that one paradox once more; the harrowing agony of his heart splitting in half in reaction to Dongyoung. He felt blessed to bask in the love of the yaksha, but Dongyoung’s words stabbed him several times over in a second, worse than his near-death experience.</p><p>“You’re right, you needed courage for that.” Youngho remarked bitterly.<br/>
“I don’t mean that I have any regret,” Dongyoung’s hands scrambled to hold Youngho’s own, “I don’t want you in pain or in danger; you’re far too important to face a downfall brought upon by a yaksha demon.”<br/>
“You’re already suffering a fate worse than death and you’re muttering about protecting me? I want to comfort you, provide you a haven when I cannot find a solution for it all.”<br/>
“And you did,” Dongyoung’s hands tightened their hold, and it hit Youngho how strong Dongyoung can be when needed, “Listen to me Youngho.”<br/>
“I cannot bear to leave you now, but it is out of selfish desire. I have passed eons alone. I want to hold you to myself for as long as I have.”<br/>
“Why do you talk as if you are a dead man walking?” Youngho couldn’t help the question slip past his lips. He didn’t want to look at the sad smile gracing Dongyoung.<br/>
“Every day could be the last.” The truth was painful to hear.<br/>
“My father cannot be the one to cause the last day of the love of my life; he cannot take you away from me.” Youngho cradled their joint hands, staring at Dongyoung with intensity that could wipe a village. Youngho’s own admission of love cleared any bitterness in the air, so Dongyoung leaned forward to pepper the prince’s face with speedy presses of his lips, carving Youngho’s features to remember.</p><p>Despite the calming feeling persisting at the sound of Dongyoung’s bittersweet confession, the nightmares plaguing Youngho didn’t leave; the twisted version of himself driving daggers through Dongyoung’s slumped body would forever haunt Youngho’s subconscious. That reoccurring murder of Dongyoung would sometimes be replaced with Youngho’s own death: the prince dragged down to the puddle of his own blood, with Dongyoung’s blade cutting apart his pumping heart, tearing Youngho to pieces. He refused to share these scenes with Dongyoung, sure that the other must be nursing his own gruesome dreams.<br/>
So, Youngho continued to share his nights with Dongyoung, avoiding the seers until they caved to let him keep his ‘dirty little secret’. It became habitual to the point where Youngho was comforted by the mundane, instead of searching for the extraordinary in countless books in the main library. He wouldn’t trade Dongyoung’s warmth for any adventure, he was sure.</p><p>“You haven’t been sleeping well.” Dongyoung stated, head leaning on Youngho’s headboard – the picture of feigned nonchalance.<br/>
“Neither have you.” Youngho fired back, smacking the yaksha’s knee in retaliation.<br/>
“I have been working with your father – what have you been doing?”<br/>
“Waiting for your return.” A bat of his eyelashes didn’t work to dissuade Dongyoung. His lover proceeded to stand up and go as far as to gather a few stray belongings.<br/>
“Is this a fight? Are we having a fight?” Youngho’s colour drained from his face.<br/>
“No, I have to attend another one of your father’s meetings; the chasm’s opening is posing serious threat to the kingdom,” Dongyoung placed a chaste kiss on the tip of the prince’s nose, “One day this will be a problem you will face.”<br/>
Youngho only rolled his eyes,<br/>
“Fine, I love you.” He called out, watching Dongyoung’s retreating.<br/>
“I love you too.”</p><p> </p><p>His mother’s death was unexpected. The kingdom mourned excessively, dressing in black for over a month and throwing flowers at every and any royal family memorial, including the castle staff that smothered his mother’s favourite balcony seat in wreaths and trinkets she’d expressed a like to. Youngho, despite seeing the actual death occur, did not join in. He sat by his father’s side as the two stares stoically at anyone’s concern and condolences. Youngho understood why his father acted as such; how could the murderer of the victim also mourn for them? Yet, his own reaction had surprised him. Yuta and Taeyong tried to push him through seven stages of grief, but Youngho couldn’t find it in himself to even reach denial. It was almost laughable.</p><p>Seeing Dongyoung’s body at the steps to his father’s throne, despite the body being arranged in the same manner as his mother’s was, sparked a rage in Youngho that he had never felt before. The man – his father in the most venomous manner – must have seen a disgustingly sick parallel between the Queen and Dongyoung to display both as such, 5 years apart.<br/>
“His contract was finished,” His father looked pleased, “this was the last clause. I do not know whether he missed the stipulation, or he simply wanted it, but his fate was sealed.”<br/>
Youngho didn’t grace his father with as much as a glance, falling to his knees instead.<br/>
“I shall give you some time.” The King skirted the tragedy in front of him, “I shall see you tomorrow morning.”</p><p>Youngho’s hands trembled as he reached for Dongyoung’s chest, finding it still warm but unmoving. This was his first love. The serene expression on the yaksha’s face contrasted the mask Dongyoung wore in all those nightmares, yet both bodies were bled out, past the point of no return.</p><p>Youngho wondered if Dongyoung tried to prepare him for this; for the cruellest end of all being at his own family’s hand rather than a nameless demon in a grand battlefield. Youngho cannot even grant him a warrior’s death. The tears slip past his cheeks and reach Dongyoung’s form, who stays unflinching at the steady drops on his neck and face. The prince wanted to cradle his lover once more, arms bracketing the fragile frame, but this Dongyoung is not the same.</p><p>Youngho pressed his lips harshly to Dongyoung’s before keeling over in despair; he was allowed to mourn.</p>
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